Her lashes lowered over her striking eyes. “A little. Most families there are involved in some fashion. It is a way of life.”
“Well, we have no good leads as to the perpetrators or their leader. Perhaps your brother could advise me on how to go about searching.”
“My brother?” she asked cautiously.
“Sir Grayson seems a savvy sort. He might have knowledge that could lead us to apprehend the gold smugglers.” At her wary expression, Lucian offered a slight smile. “I’m not interested in ending the livelihood of your fellow Cornishmen, Brynn. Only in keeping the gold out of French hands. If we hope to stop the bloodshed and put an end to the war, these smugglers must be caught.”
She suddenly looked troubled, distracted even. Lucian felt a sinking weight in his heart.
“I don’t know if Gray could be of any help,” she said finally. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to ask him.”
Lucian forced a smile. Her reply was not the one he had hoped for-that she would disavow any knowledge of her brother’s activities. Rising, he crossed to her, then bent and pressed his lips to her brow. “Sleep well, siren.”
Taken off guard, Brynn eyed him warily. It had been a tender gesture, as if there were real affection between them.
“You don’t intend to stay?” she asked.
“Are you inviting me to stay?”
Their gazes locked. A long moment passed while he studied her. Eventually, though, Brynn looked away, uncomfortable with his penetrating scrutiny.
“Well then,” Lucian said lightly, “I see I had best summon all my willpower.” When she didn’t respond, he reached out to brush her cheek with a knuckle. “Don’t worry, love. I intend to wait for an invitation. I won’t press my unwanted attentions on you.”
“You must do as you please,” she said, her voice low.
“Must I?” he asked softly.
Brynn watched him turn away, still surprised and unaccountably disappointed that he hadn’t remained.
When he was gone, she let out an unsteady breath of relief. Yet her inner turmoil wasn’t caused solely by her husband’s potent masculinity. This time Lucian had given her too much to think about-and raised a disturbing possibility.
She’d always believed Grayson was smuggling wine and brandy and silk; never had she dreamed he would become involved in something treasonous such as stealing gold and delivering it to the enemy. Brynn bit her lip. Surely she would have known if Gray were engaged in so wicked a crime. He would not be able to keep such a secret from her-and yet she hadn’t been home in weeks.
And Gray had been unusually troubled during his last visit, agitated even. Brynn suddenly recalled the questions he had put to her then… his keen interest in Lucian’s connection to the Foreign Office, particularly Lucian’s role as a spy.
And what of her husband’s enigmatic comments just now? Did he somehow suspect Grayson?
A stab of fear shot through her as she realized the possible danger to her brother. She had greatly underestimated Lucian. He wasn’t a bored nobleman playing at being a hero. After losing close friends to the war, he was personally driven to prevent further bloodshed, even at the risk of his own life. Admittedly, his revelations tonight had given her a new respect for him. Yet she had also gained a new wariness. Lucian was keenly intelligent, intuitively clever. And he was determined to find the gold smugglers. If he were to suspect Grayson-
Another frightening thought struck her. Had he suspected Gray all along? Had that been Lucian’s purpose for coming to Cornwall in the first place? Even more damning, had he courted her to get closer to her brother? Had he used her that way? Just as he was using her to sire a son?
And something else… Gray’s desperate interest in Lucian’s seal ring. Her breath caught in her throat. Sweet heaven… Was Gray truly involved in treason? And had she unwittingly aided him?
It was a horrifying thought.
Brynn shook her head, pressing her lips together in a tight line. She wouldn’t jump to conclusions just yet, condemning her brother without a fair hearing. But she would certainly have a great number of questions to put to him when she wrote to him first thing in the morning.
Chapter Thirteen
For an endless moment they stood locked together in a death grip, straining for control of the rapier. Then with an anguished cry, Giles twisted away and flung himself full-force at Lucian, sending them both crashing over the table to the floor.
Struggling for breath, Lucian rolled free and climbed to his feet, firmly in possession of the weapon. Yet his opponent lay still, groaning, blood seeping from a mortal wound in his chest.
Dropping the blade with a clatter, Lucian went down on his knees beside the dying man, cradling his head.
“Giles…” he whispered, agony ripping through him.
“Forgive me, Luce… It is better this way… Please…don’t tell…”
His last rasped words were lost in a violent fit of coughing as blood bubbled up from his throat.
“No…!”
The hoarse cry woke her. Brynn sat up in bed, her heart pounding. Her bedchamber was dark, filled with an uneasy silence.
When she heard another muted moan of pain coming from beyond the door to her sitting room, she hastily fumbled to light a candle and made her way cautiously to Lucian’s apartments. He lay sleeping in the huge canopied bed, tossing his head restlessly on the pillow. His body was nearly bare, the rumpled linen sheets scarcely covering his loins.
He groaned again, a tortured sound that wrenched her heart. Bending over him, Brynn laid a gentle hand on his arm and realized he was covered with cold sweat.
At her touch, he woke abruptly, staring at her with a wildness in his eyes. Then his hand shot out, grasping her wrist with an unexpected fierceness.
Startled, she tried to draw away. “I’m sorry… You were having a bad dream.”
The savage light slowly faded from his eyes. “The same nightmare,” Lucian said hoarsely. “I killed him…”
She knew exactly what he had dreamed, yet she refrained from admitting to seeing his same dark visions. Lucian hadn’t believed her when she’d confessed to sharing his dreams, nor did she like to remind him of her powers of witchery.
“Are you all right?” Brynn asked when he shuddered.
Slowly he raised himself onto one elbow, running his hand raggedly down his face. “Yes.”
“Well then…” She started to turn away, but he stopped her with an abrupt plea.
“Don’t go… please.”
Brynn hesitated. She was standing barefoot in her revealing cambric nightdress, her hair tumbling wantonly down her back. Yet Lucian’s mind was obviously not on seduction or carnal matters, for he was staring unseeingly at the shadows of the room, not examining her scanty attire.
Gingerly she set the candle on the nightstand. She couldn’t simply abandon him if he needed comforting, even knowing the danger of remaining in such close proximity.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked. “Theo used to be troubled by nightmares, and talking about them seemed to help ease his fear.”
Lucian’s gaze searched her face intently, before he looked away. “You don’t want to hear about something so ugly.” His voice was low, taut.
She perched on the edge of the bed, keeping as much distance between them as possible. “I do, Lucian. It obviously disturbs you greatly.”
A long moment passed before he answered. “I killed a man. Someone I counted as a friend.”
“Giles?” When his gaze flew to her face, she prevaricated, “You cried his name in your sleep.”
Lucian stared at her. “Yes, Giles,” he said at last, his voice hoarse.
Brynn felt the despair in him. “But you didn’t kill him in cold blood.”